


The Necromancer

by CynaraM



Category: Johannes Cabal - Jonathan L. Howard
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, Gen, Horror, Short, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 03:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2332952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynaraM/pseuds/CynaraM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A seeker, a necromancer, and a remote house.  Things could have turned out so differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Necromancer

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not normally an AU aficionado, but the 'AU' prompt at indubitablyjohannescabal got me thinking, and I couldn't resist....

Two travellers waved at the departing train and mounted their bicycles at the abandoned stop that used to be Penlow-on-Thurse. It had been a pretty place; the boarded-up church was exquisite, and the houses showed signs of care. Now, the gardens and doorsteps were overgrown profusions of climbing roses and buttercup, and some roofs had grown moss and started to sink. The roads were overgrown with thistle and burdock, and pavement heaved up around the green shoots.

The two men, blond and nearly of a height, left their bicycles and walked through the streets to a particular house. It was unremarkable, except for its exquisite state of repair. It was as if chaos had withdrawn its skirts from this one home, withdrawing from something too dangerous to offend. The herbs and perennials were well-tended, the roses pruned and healthy. 

A woman sat outside, apparently enjoying the spring sunshine as she did a bit of knitting in the garden. The younger man halted for a moment when she came into view, his brow furrowed, and the older put an easy hand on his shoulder and clasped it for a moment in support. He looked into the younger man’s eyes. “We don’t have to talk to her. We could leave now.” The younger shook his head unhappily, and they continued together. 

They walked their bicycles over the uneven ground of the road to the front walk leading to the house, where they stopped, unwilling to trespass. The woman was still absorbed in her knitting. She was pretty and wore a rose cardigan and a green skirt. Her hair was under a scarf, as if she had been doing housework before she sat down to rest. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. The garden is occupied, and they don’t like strangers. Or neighbours.” Her voice was loud in the hush of the deserted neighbourhood: an educated local accent. Her needles stilled and she turned her attention to the visitors, relaxing back into her chair. Both men felt a chill. “Have you come to look for Miss Leonie Barrow, gentlemen?” Her knitting slid to the side and a vast shining pistol hove into view. “I would recommend that you leave. She doesn’t like strangers either.”

“Miss,” started the elder brother, keeping an eye on the gun but striving for a relaxed, ingratiating tone. “My name is Horst Cabal, and this is my brother, Johannes. We are looking for a friend of ours: a young woman, my brother’s fiancee, in fact.” 

“There aren’t any young women around here, at least none who could be engaged to your friend anymore.” She relaxed in her garden chair like a queen at ease on her throne, the pistol held comfortably on her knee.

The younger brother, pale but determined, took a step forward. “You are Miss Leonie Barrow, the necromancer, are you not?” She grinned suddenly and cocked her head to the side. The bushes rustled, as with small worried creatures.

“You have so little faith in our good police force? Necromancy is illegal, Mr. and Mr. Cabal, and if I really was one, I would surely have been hanged years ago.' She motioned with the gun. "Forget your errand, and go home. You’re too pretty to waste on corpses, lads; go away and find yourselves some living girls.”


End file.
